In the Heat of the Night, which premiered today in 1967, was made during an era of brave mainstream filmmaking on the subject of racism. From blaxploitation to westerns to court dramas, racism was attacked with energy and an assumption that American audiences were tough enough to handle it, and smart enough to learn. That era has passed for the moment—a fervent dismantling of public education, the predations of algorithm- and bot-driven social media, and the reduction of movie palaces into clearing houses for teen cash have broadly wiped out critical, fact-based thinking skills. But while for decades the trend in cinema has been toward the increased production of pap, there are always film lovers who swim against the tide, and remain curious and challengeable. In the Heat of the Night, today, seems almost a paean for those people.
Sidney Poitier plays a northern police detective passing through Mississippi who is, probably based solely on skin color, blamed for a murder he didn’t commit, then commanded by his boss over the phone to help solve it. Rod Steiger is the small-minded smalltown chief of police who’s just a little smarter than his men, but is by no means enlightened. His character represents, in human form, institutional racism—implacable, always observant, socially accepted, and adherent to the false position that order equals justness. Like most Southerners, he’s capable of being fake nice, such as when he asks Poitier to look at the body of the murdered man. A little later, when his guys arrest a suspect, he’s his old mean self. He thinks he’s gotten what he wants, so that unctuous phony amity goes out the window.
But the case is trickier than Steiger thinks. He becomes convinced more than once that he has the perp in hand, but must reluctantly move on to other suspects. Meanwhile Poitier keeps pushing ahead in his quiet way, sifting evidence, making deductions.
Poitier is derailed only once, when he’s slapped in the face by a patriarchal one-percenter and decides this guy has to be the killer. Steiger gloats over this loss of objectivity, but Poitier is later able to give up his prejudice. The Southerners around him are incapable of that—theirs will last their lifetimes. Poitier is soon back to his deductive ways, seeking a killer that can’t long elude modern police work and a keen mind.
This film, derived from an excellent novel by John Ball, is deservedly considered an American classic. Its only flaw is a bit of disjointedness in its latter fifth. But that’s okay, because its plot is engrossing, its lead relatable, its direction by Norman Jewison and cinematography by Haskell Wexler top tier, and its dark, heavy atmosphere a palpable object. The only movies we can think of that combine similar ingredients as confrontationally are maybe 48 Hours or Odds Against Tomorrow. In the Heat of the Night uses the structure of a detective thriller to tell audiences that social norms are no excuse for racism, and diversity brings new views therefore greater chances for success. In terms of directness it’s a movie that couldn’t have been made for mainstream release anytime within the last thirty years.
Though racism is and has always been encouraged by a certain sector of elites, it’s still a bit amazing that it remains such an intractable problem. Racists have been up to their necks in nearly every mass injustice, blood-drenched war, and engineered holocaust for centuries. History has never been shown to be on their side, and never will. They are, objectively speaking, the worst people in the world. You’d think they’d have no credibility, yet they still manage to proliferate, and to gain power. But humans make progress—that’s inevitable. Elections, oppression, censorship, and the wishes of discredited old orders can delay it, but it’s self-defeating. Countries, like people, can make the choice to simply fall behind, and like people, over time they become afterthoughts.
